


made us turn right back around

by lumimochi



Category: Apink, SHINee, kpop rpf - Fandom
Genre: F/M, awkwardly reconnecting, in which everyone meddles because they can, mention of Apink, mention of EXO - Freeform, mention of SHINee, wishful pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 10:59:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16575152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumimochi/pseuds/lumimochi
Summary: it's always been her truth.





	made us turn right back around

Minho’s eyes twinkle, in the way that they do when when he has something he absolutely _needs_  to tell you. The three of them are huddled in a corner booth of the restaurant, and Taemin is diligently chewing on a piece of tenderloin while Kibum is fussing over the grill. Minho says, “She asked about you, if you’re curious.” And God help him, because he can’t stop the knowing smile that spills from his lips, even if he wants to. 

 

Between them, Kibum’s eyes flash and he lets out an amused scoff. He leans in and points the prongs in the younger man’s face. “Yah, you really can’t act cool, huh.”

 

Minho only laughs some more and pats Taemin’s back with a firm palm, before picking some meat off of the grill for himself. His arm eventually slinks over the younger man’s shoulder blades, but he doesn’t say anything more. And just like that, the topic is brought up and dropped in matter of seconds. Taemin, for the most part, isn’t at all sure what to make of it, but Minho’s statement stays in his head for the rest of the night, even long after the bottles of soju run out.

 

* * *

 

 

Taemin knows that in the spectrum of his best-friends-who-are-also-soulmates or colleagues-who-feel-more-like-brothers, that he’s probably one of the worst, if not _the_ worst, at talking to the opposite sex. He’s also piss-poor at talking _about_ them, such as the case with multiple interviews now that he’s getting older and questions are getting more intimate, so when he can’t ignore the question, he deflects, and deflects, and deflects.

Minho texts him while he’s going through security in Narita back to Seoul. It’s a photo of Naeun, and she’s leaning over a pile of meat beaming at the camera, her hand raised in a casual victory sign. Minho attaches a smiley face and nothing else. What he’s supposed to make of it, he’s not really sure, but he stares at it long enough for his manager to reprimand him for holding up the line.

When he lands back in South Korea, and the sky is glazed an icy cobalt, his phone rings almost instinctively. “Be at the dorm by nine,” Kibum says before hanging up abruptly. A minute later, he texts him: _bring beer 2 thx._

He gets there five minutes to nine, still in the clothes he went to the airport with back in Japan, and places the convenient store bag on the corner of the coffee table. The tv is playing some kind of car commercial, and Jonghyun is sprawled on the couch, fast asleep with his head on Jinki’s lap. They give each other a casual fist bump before the older man turns back to the screen-- his eyes too, heavy with sleep. It’s not all the time that they have much time to do things together, but when they do, Kibum just _knows_ , and always gathers them together like ducklings to their mother.

He nudges Jonghyun’s legs and lifts them onto his own lap as he settles himself onto the couch. Meanwhile, Kibum cracks open three cans of beer just as the opening credits roll by.

Minho is angsty on the screen when Kibum speaks over the tv, the other two already fast asleep. “He gave her your number,” he says behind his can, and the words are a little muffled but he picks it up anyway. His mind instantly blanks as he turns his head to stare at him. The other man’s eyes are bright in the dim light. Kibum snorts and turns back, once again focusing on the screen; Minho’s crying now. “He figured you’d just waste the opportunity if he gave you her’s-” he spares him a quick glance and laughs a little- "or maybe you both would, who knows.”

The rest of the episode goes by like a haze, and he makes a conscious effort not to look at his phone. In the end, Kibum’s also half-asleep on the other couch, so he’s the only one uncomfortably still wide awake. He blames the flight in, even though there isn’t a time difference to blame it on.

“Ah,” Kibum yawns, rubbing his eyes, “Can you pick him up in a bit by the way? His phone died before you landed.”

Taemin, hyper aware that the living room has become unbearably stuffy, slinks out from underneath Jonghyun’s legs, and does just that.

 

* * *

 

 

He taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the hazard lights as he waits, and waits, and waits. Minho is religiously punctual, and though a small part of him thinks he should be concerned, a bigger part of him remembers that Kibum had mentioned his phone had died, and really, he should’ve thought of this better before leaving anyway. Eleven minutes later, and he hears a _tap, tap_ on the passenger side of the car.

Absentmindedly, he knocks the button to unlock the doors and shifts his car into gear. It isn’t until Minho calls out to him that he actually looks at him-- and her.

Smiling brightly, Minho waves and motions to the woman next to him to step closer. “Her manager had an emergency, so I told her we'd give her a ride.” Standing outside next to the taller man, Naeun looks both familiar and unfamiliar; small and yet suddenly the only thing he can see. Shyly, she looks away when he finally tries to make eye contact with her. He wonders if he looks as out of place as she does.

He clears his throat, telling himself it’s dry from sitting in the car in silence. “Yeah,” he begins, turning away to check if he’d left anything on the backseats, “Yeah, sure-”

Naeun finally speaks up, gently clutching Minho's coat sleeve as he reaches over to open the door, “Oppa, it’s okay, I can get a taxi-”

Minho waves her off, and guides her into the backseat. “Yah, it’s late and it's dangerous. You don’t mind sitting in the back, right? It might be better, you know… cause, you know.”

It’s only then that they finally lock eyes, and again, she’s the first to look away when Minho heaves himself into the passenger seat. He gives the younger man a friendly knock on the shoulder. “Thanks for picking me up, by the way. How was Japan?”

Mechanically, he turns his attention back to the road in front of them, switching the hazard light off in favour of the left turn signal. His hands suddenly feel clammy on the steering wheel. “Uh, yeah, it was okay,” he says quickly.

They don’t speak much, save for Minho blithely asking them mundane questions, as if they were all familiar friends or something, and them responding in one or two word answers, and Minho again supplying little stories about what happened today on set and then at the wrap dinner. They’re maybe fifteen minutes on the road and stuck behind typical midnight Seoul traffic when a thought hits him. Awkwardly, he glances at his rearview mirror, where he can see Naeun pointedly staring out of her window, her shoulders visibly stiff. “Do you still…” Minho and Naeun turn their focus back to him then, and he turns his attention back to the road ahead, continuing, “Do you still live in the same place?”

“…Yeah.”

In the silence in the car, her voice is like a long lost memory, and a wave of nostalgia hits him like a ton of bricks. He wonders if she feels it too.

“We’ll wait here until you go in,” Minho says as she opens the side door.

She’s mindful as she steps out of the car, only leaving the door open long enough to say a quick thanks before closing it and walking towards the parkade elevator. Just as the elevator doors are closing between them, Minho rolls down his window and calls out, “You two should text each other by the way! Good night!”

Mortified, Taemin wonders whose face is more red: his or hers.

 

* * *

 

 

She eyes the long table curiously. “Who else is coming?” But oh, as soon as the question makes it past her lips, she feels something akin to anxiety crawl like a caterpillar down her spine. No one else seems to question it, so she _knows_ that she’s _missing something_.

“We invited some friends, obviously,” Namjoo says as she adjusts her hat, casually flicks her ponytail over her shoulder.

Eunji’s phone rings, and she stands back up after only just settling in, eyes focused on the front entrance. Her voice is deceptively lively as she speaks to whomever is on the other line. “Yeah, we just got here too-” she shoots a hand up in the air and waves it enthusiastically at someone over Naeun’s shoulder- “Oh, I see you! To your left!”

She can’t help it when she fidgets in her seat at the end of the table. There’s a smattering of empty seats around the table; one in front of her, one two seats down next to Eunji, and another one down the far end, next to Chorong. Before she can ask _anything_ at all, Minho files in with Kibum and Taemin, the latter smiling just a little more bashfully than the rest. It’s Taemin who sits in front of her, and it’s him who shoots her an almost apologetic look just as Bomi hands them each a menu.

“So, we normally order…”

 

* * *

 

“… And then she punched me in the face,” Chorong finishes dryly, as she wraps a piece of pork belly in a perilla leaf. Everyone laughs, Minho being the loudest, and Bomi letting out more of a nervous chortle.

“It was an _accident_ ,” Bomi clarifies, before gladly accepting a piece of meat Kibum offers, who had taken it upon himself to man the grill--  _not_ that anyone could complain.

The entire dinner had been a surreal experience for Naeun, who only started really relaxing after almost all the food had been cooked and devoured, and the grill long ago turned off. There’s one more piece left over though, and a quick glance around the table deems it unnoticed by anyone save herself. A disappointingly quick glance tells her that it’s farther than an arm’s length away though, and she’s in the midst of resolving herself to just staring at it from afar or cutting Hayoung off so she can grab it for her, before someone else picks it up with their chopsticks. Shocked and maybe a little bit disappointed, she stares unabashedly at Taemin as he lays it on a leaf of lettuce, a slice of pickled radish, and adds kimchi, ssamjang, and a slice of jalapeño before carefully wrapping it up. Her cheeks flush as her mouth waters. She wonders if this is what torture feels like.

Forcing herself to look away before it can be consumed, she twitches in her seat when he places it wordlessly on her plate instead. He, who hadn’t added much to the conversation except for a few polite laughs when appropriate, much less to her the entire duration of dinner. He offers her another boyish smile before simply turning back to Minho, who’s dramatically gesticulating with his hands as he recounts an experience during a pr shoot.

After dinner and they’re all rounded up in a taxi, Hayoung gives her a playful nudge with her shoulder. “How long are you going to keep smiling like that for?”

Namjoo rolls her eyes, but there’s a fondness in them that deems the action no less than well meaning. “You’re acting like he gave you a whole box of meat.” She gives her a contemplative look. “Have you called or texted him yet?”

Naeun flushes and she looks away stubbornly. “Ah…” she almost wishes that she hadn’t told them about Minho’s suggestion-slash-demand all those weeks ago at another bbq restaurant. “No,” she mumbles.

Namjoo hums, the way she always does when she’s planning something. “I see-” she holds out her hand- “my phone died, can I borrow yours?”

Her face feels unbearably hot, and she suddenly feels like she’s in high school again. “No!” At the same time, her phone pings to notify a new message. The car jostles as everyone clamors to read over her shoulder.

_FROM: UNSAVED NUMBER X-XXXX-XXXX (+2):_

_hey_

_you free tmrw night?_

A chorus of _ooh_ ’s resonate around her as she reads the text messages dumbly.

Bomi reacts first, yelling, “Siri, text ‘yes’! Send, send, send!”

 

* * *

 

Taemin stares into the rearview, dumbfounded as Kibum texts with _his_ cellphone. Behind them, someone honks, clearly irate. Minho lowers the passenger window and raises a hand up in apology. As the other driver swerves around and passes them with another angry honk of his horn, he smacks the back of the younger man's head. “Yah, pay attention to the road!”

Hastily, he makes a messy left turn after unsteadily focusing back on the road ahead. Still, his eyes shoot desperately to the rear-view mirror. “Hyung!” he exclaims indignantly.

Casually, Kibum reconnects the phone to the aux and taps the play button. “Don’t worry,” he says mildly, “She said ‘yes’.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You should just ask him,” Hayoung says, matter-of-fact; sure of herself because apparently _someone_ needs to be.

They’re looking at each other’s reflections in the hair salon now, but maybe Hayoung caught her staring at her phone earlier. There are notifications, but-- “Ask him what?” She almost says ‘who’ instead, just to be difficult. Besides, nothing is a secret between any of them anymore. Not that anything really can be, at least not for long.

The younger woman blinks. “If he likes you.” Naeun doesn’t need to hear ‘duh’ when she can see it written all over Hayoung’s face.

She makes a face. “What? No. It’s not- it’s not like that.”

Hayoung just makes a sour face.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you like me?”

Naeun makes a face, because asking _do you like me?_  makes her feel childish. She curses herself.

Across the table from her, Taemin regards her with a raised eyebrow. And then he slowly, slowly, lowers the mug from his lips. His eyes stay locked onto her, like they have since they sat down. She feels warmth quickly spreading from her chest to her neck, creeping along her jaw and flushing against her cheeks. She averts her eyes, embarrassed.

“...Yeah?” he says after a moment.

She blinks, and in the back of her head, she hears Hayoung: “ _Do you really think he doesn’t like you like_ that _, like, at all?_ ” She must look stupid now, because she knows she's openly staring dumbly back, but any words that she could say are mush in her head.

“I mean, yeah. That’s kinda... why I’m here. With you.” His tone is light; kind, despite the obvious sarcasm. What did the viewers call them again? ‘Awkward-couple?’ Yeah, no kidding. At least, Naeun thinks wryly, both fans and antis were in agreement for once.

They’re having coffee at KAMONG after-hours. Jongin’s sister had been kind enough to leave them a key at her brother’s request, under the condition that they clean up after themselves. His cup is running on empty, and hers lays cold between her hands. All the lights inside are turned off, leaving the café in darkness, save for the soft wash of city lights outside. And maybe her face is flashing as bright as a red neon light too, who knows. All she knows is that she feels warm and her heart is running in overdrive, like that time she tried to learn how to drive and slammed on the accelerator way too hard, even though the car was still in park.

He clears his throat, and when her eyes refocus, he has a glint in his eye. Suddenly, she feels like they're teenagers again, and the PD is behind the camera instructing Taemin to do one thing, when they all know he’s gonna do something else. They could never be serious for too long, before erupting into awkward giggles. “Ah, I remember experiencing my first teen romance...” one of the PD’s assistants had wistfully commented. Neither of them could relate, but now, maybe she understands.

He leans forward, putting his weight on his forearms. City lights reflect in his eyes, his toothy grin. “Well?”

Her neck is on fire. “I... think I’m the same.” In her mind’s eye, she can see Hayoung and Eunji-- no she can see everyone-- cringing.

His grin only breaks into a smile. He throws his head back with that throaty laugh of his, and the chair teeters as it balances on its back legs, before settling back onto all fours with a sharp ‘thud!’ Taemin’s laughs turn into throatier chuckles, before he shakes his head. His grin is back on his lips. “Yah! You’re making me lose my confidence here.” His hand brushes against hers, and when she doesn’t pull back, he takes them in his own. His thumbs brush against her knuckles and she remembers a time when she’d reach for his and mindlessly play with the rings on his fingers. “But, it’s no rush. You don’t need to- to say it back if you’re not sure. So... you know, we can take it slow, because it’s been years after all. I’d like to give us a chance to get to know each other just as us, on our own terms this time... And... I just wanna make it clear that I like you, Son Naeun.” His grin widens. “Like _that_.”

Halfway through his little speech, she’d had to bite down on her molars because she _knows_ that she has a shit-eating grin on her face, and she knows-- well, she’s kinda always known what she’s _wanted_. Half a decade has passed, and somehow, it’s always been her truth. She slides her hands from his, and smirks smugly at the quick flash of hurt that creases his brows, before intertwining her fingers with his. “Okay,” she breathes into the silence of the room.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, he texts her a photo of an alarming number of Joeun Soju bottles.

_FROM: Lee TM (+2) (+1 image):_

_I bought 20 bc the girl on the bottle is so pretty_

_how can someone be so pretty??_

Eunji narrows her eyes, but the grin on her face is absolutely diabolical as she reads over the younger woman’s shoulder. She tuts. “Jeez, you two were always so annoyingly cute.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is all set post-WGM, post Base and PYN era. the kids are watching TMBG in the beginning, which cast Minho and Naeun... which is... why they meet again. lol.
> 
> rpf can be such a messy thing because, well, it's Real Person FICTION. I know, I know. please don't be upset; this is just for fun and I'm WGM trash so. /shrug
> 
> Tumblr: icecream-daifuku :-)


End file.
